Breaking the Girl
by Kilonji
Summary: Rukia is not rescued.  Rated for potentially dark matter.  Spoilers for most recent chapters of the manga.
1. Refuse

In the dim half light of the makeshift infirmary, he watched. There was no barrier between him and the healer with her patient. It was hardly sanitary, but in places like this you had to take what you got. The Gillian didn't care much about little pesky things like infection. They only needed to be patched up enough to carry on with their miserable un-lives, and even the Espada were not much better about caring for their bodily needs.

But this was no arrankar.

He had made himself very clear when he came, carrying the bloody, barely breathing mass in his arm. He killed the first healer who glanced up at him with empty, rolling eyes. Then he had looked at the other. "Don't leave a mark on her," he said. "Not a scar, not a scratch. Got it?" Shinsô twitched at his hip, prepared to carry out his will. The remaining healer nodded a little and got to work. Gin stood and watched.

Hours passed; little by little the blood faded away, the wound to the chest closed under the shifting green light and the face became clear and recognizable. Not as the startled blank mask he had seen last. Calm, like a girl on her funeral pyre. The wisp of jet black hair hung stubbornly between her tightly shut eyes, and the fringe of lashes did not flutter at all.

He contented himself with the thought that they would, soon enough. He stretched and moved toward the exit, where the domed windows had no glass and exposed the permanent half-dusk that was Hueco Mundo. He had been here what seemed like forever with little amusement. Then the human girl had been acquired, and it seemed that maybe the ennui would fade. But she was closed off to him, whether by design or chance, and he had to satisfy himself with toying with Arranloli. But they seemed to enjoy his playing too much for him to derive any real pleasure from it. Once or twice he caught himself thinking of his sweet Kira-kun, who was perpetually and delightfully horrified. But for all that, Gin knew Kira-kun gave into him out of some warped sense of duty. In the end, it had become boring with him, too. There was no point in even thinking of Ran-chan.

But here, by some incredible stroke of luck, was a real playmate. He had been able to twist her in the most delicious ways in the past. He wondered if she had changed any.

He turned back to look at the healer, who was stepping gingerly away from her patient. Gin's smile turned down just a little. On her exposed torso was a vibrant pink scar. He looked at the healer, who edged further into the corner. "It was there before, Ichimaru-sama--" Shinsô took no time in silencing her for her failure.

He gathered the still-limp form into his arms. As he headed to the place he would happily hide the Kuchiki princess, he mused that Gillian were made to obey, and if the could not do so they were worse than useless and best disposed of. Shinigami, however, were made to fight. The refuse in his arms would give him all kinds of amusement; he was sure of it.


	2. A Dark and Empty Place

Long after she opened her eyes, she could see nothing. Her entire body ached; she quickly found it made better sense not to move at all, so she lay on her back with her eyes (supposedly) open, trying to catch her mental breath. She had come to Hueco Mundo with Renji. She had met up with Ichigo, Sado-kun, Ishida-kun, and some weird-ass hollows that were supposedly arrankar. They had split up. She had met up with—no, this can't be right.

No, it was right. Kaien-dono. But it was not Kaien-dono. It was something monstrous. And they had killed each other. Hadn't they? Where was the arrankar wandering around with Kaien's face? She was sure she had seen it go down. Its name was irrelevant. As she sank unwillingly back into sleep, she assured herself it was dead, and that alone gave her comfort.

But it was a short-lived comfort. It was still pitch dark when her eyes opened again. And she felt it. Hunger. She must not be dead, if she was hungry. Slowly, she rolled over onto her side, ignoring the dull ache in her back. She gathered her knees almost to her chest and gradually came to sit on her haunches. Dark, dark, dark. Not a speck of light in there. She stood, stretched her arms. Emptiness. She felt her side. Shirayuki was not there, but this alone was not enough to make her panic. The first rational thing you do with a prisoner is disarm them. She took several short steps, then a few long ones until she came to a wall, flat and cold. She reached up, but as she expected, the ceiling was high. Then she moved to the side, sliding her hand lightly along the wall. She felt a small but unique indenture, possibly large enough to hold a lantern. She made a mental note of it, but then swore inwardly when not three meters from it she found another one. She continued her examination until she found a third, then gave up in disgust, crouching on the floor with her back to the wall.

So. She was trapped, alone in the dark. She had been healed, there was no doubt about that, but she had also been imprisoned. She took a breath. Killing her would have been a quick and expedient solution to the problem she presented. There were few in her group, but they were on a mission that would wreck whatever plan Aizen had. So of course all of his minions would be after their blood, just like the one with Kaien-dono's face. What could any of them possibly gain from keeping any of friends, and least of all her, alive? Unless. . . she shuddered. Perhaps Aizen needed test subjects for a newly operational hou gyoku. _No, that's not possible_, she thought. It had never been tested on Shinigami, she knew. Without knowing if the hou gyoku changed someone's nature as well as their shape, Aizen would never risk creating a more powerful enemy.

Her chest flared. Damn. She was no stranger to starvation, but it still irritated the hell out of her. The last time she had been this hungry, she and Renji had lost the last of their childhood companions. Dead in the street at the hands of an angry vendor who caught the boy stealing food he did not need. The original plan had been simple and they had executed it with perfection hundreds of times. Rukia was not the fastest runner, but she was best able to hide when the situation required it. Thus she was always the decoy. She would take something small enough to be stuffed in her shirt and sprint off, letting the hapless vendor trail her for as long as she could before they either ran out of breath or she lost them in the crowds and would hide under a standing cart or some other convenient place. Yuki and Renji would quickly take what they could get from the abandoned stall and be gone before the vendor returned. But that one time, the vendor had turned back sooner. She did not notice. But when he came upon Renji and Yuki, he grabbed the slower of the two and shook the life out of him. Rukia and Renji had met up at the predetermined meeting point to split their spoils and had waited for twenty minutes before going back out and looking for him. They found him in an alley, eyes open, blood trailing from his nose, the look of fear and shock frozen onto his face. It was Renji, not Rukia, who immediately shrieked. She merely fell to her knees, cradling her stomach, rocking. Yuki's memory would be forever intertwined with that hunger.

Though she and Renji never spoke of it, neither of them knew which pain burned more. The gnawing emptiness of loss, or the tremendous guilt of being the root cause of his death. That was something, no matter how many times it happened, she would never get used to. Even this long after Kaien. But this was the life of a Shinigami. During a fight, you did what you could to protect yourself and your friends, but it was difficult to want to be the one in the immediate line of fire. The primal desire to survive always surfaced when it needed to. Always, even at the cost of your companions.

When she felt the tears coming, she sniffed angrily and stood. She hadn't wanted to think of that.

She stood, took a deep breath, and began to pace. And paced. And paced. For hours. She had no inclination nor desire to scream, not for help, not for food. She knew she would have to wait it out.

Someone was trying to have fun with her.

She was determined not to give them the satisfaction. She instead focused on praying for the wellbeing of her friends. If nothing else, she would have faith in them.

When she was tired of pacing, she stood. When she was tired of standing, she knelt. She had no idea how long she knelt before her legs fell asleep and her eyes grew heavy. Her head was starting to bob when she heard a shuffling. She no longer had the energy to stand, only turned in the direction of the shuffling and raised her chin.

And wanted to vomit whatever molecules of food remained in her stomach when the light came from nowhere and revealed the face of her visitor.

Gin, as always, smiled at her.

* * *

A/N: A thousand pardons, I had to make up a name for Renji and Rukia's friend. If anyone knows what their freinds' names were, could you please enlighten me? 


	3. The New Woman

"Is that how you thank someone who just saved your life?"

Her eyes are as cold and shiny as glass. She blinks slowly, takes a breath as she simultaneously steps back, and any scrap of emotion he hoped for is pounded down deep. She is not hysterical. She is not angry. She barely looks disturbed. "I give you my thanks, Ichimaru-dono."

She didn't even bother to sound fake.

He tilts his head to the side, contemplating closing the distance she was so quick to establish between them. But something in him knows she will not back away. She is defiant and self-possessed, so much a Kuchiki. She has changed a great deal.

It had been her uncertainty that attracted him, in the beginning. Sereitei's pathetic imitation of a social set was aflame with news of her arrival. A pauper student with no history, no bloodline, given the Kuchiki name. . .inconceivable. They sniffed their disdain at her in Byakuya's presence and was outright vicious in his absence. The girl was not as good at hiding her feelings, then, and her insecurity was like a siren call to the likes of Ichimaru Gin. He set almost immediately to ferreting out her history, observing her activity and placing himself in her path at convenient times. And she was receptive to the kind of attention he wanted to give her, that was clear enough. The revulsion was all but painted on her face.

But, as time went on she spent less time in her brother's company and more time ensconced in the warm bosom of the thirteenth squad. Shiba Kaien was many things, but inattentive was not one of them. Weakness tended to attract him as well, but more out of a desire to offer aid. This insane protective instinct had in fact been the downfall of his clan. They did not care how their reputation was tarnished by the company they kept. It was when Gin spied Kaien kindly talking to the girl in a brotherly way that he decided to abandon his goals where Rukia was concerned. The blush on her cheeks told him everything.

And Gin had no patience for girlish crushes.

But this was no girl before him now. "Are you well? Have your wounds healed sufficiently?" he asks, although he knows they both know he couldn't care less.

"I am in good condition," she replies. "Where am I?"

"That's not what you want to know."

"Then let's stop wasting time."

"Renji is dead. The quincy died sobbing. The giant is in pieces outside, and that boy. . ."

She lifts her chin. Her eyes narrow slightly.

". . .he'll be dead soon enough,"he finishes.

Not a reaction. Not even a sigh to betray her irritation. "And why am I so privileged?" she finally asks.

He doesn't skip a beat. "Because I'm not done with you."

Her eyes have never left his face. Her own face is a mirror shrouded in black linen. He cannot see.

And it's beginning to exhilarate him. "I've offered you freedom before."

"And immediately rescinded it," she reminds him.

"If I said the words again, would you accept them?"

"What would be the point in that?" There is steel in her voice now.

He moves toward her. She is still. He raises his arm, slowly lest she mistake it for aggression even though it is. The back of his knuckles graces her cheek, moves slowly down her jaw, her neck. His smile widens. "It was merely a suggestion." He is looking closely. He is too used to touching people this way. This move always rendered Kira to nothing. But the Kuchiki princess is less brittle. She takes it as it is.

"Just do it," she murmurs. "If that's what you're thinking." _And get it over with, _she does not add. Oh, she _has_ changed.

He leans down slightly. He can feel her slight breath on his lips. His hand snaps up; the blow sends her downward. It catches her so by surprise she doesn't make a sound. She crouches on the stone floor. "As if I'd give you a chance to bite me," he snorts, and turns. "I'll be back in a while."

The light leaves with him. He doesn't even indulge himself in one last look at her face. Her lip is bleeding.

He smiles to himself that it's been a while since he tasted blood that was not his own. But there'll be plenty of time for that later.


	4. Here Again

**A/N:** Ah, sorry about the delay. But 5 days and 45 eps later, the NANA-thon is over! I'm drained. Sheesh.

* * *

After he is gone, she takes a breath. And another. And more after that, deep, desperate gasps.

She has no idea how she got through it. But did she get through it? She must have been a kitten hissing and spitting in the dark. Must have been.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and lurches to her feet. The walls surrounding her remind her of the ones that imprisoned her in Soul Society. But she knows it's his leaving that has sapped what remained of her strength. Damn him. "Dammit,"she says aloud. It does not echo.

She begins to pace. There are a multitude of things he might have in mind for her. None of them are appealing. She stops, shakes her head. Her heart is still pounding. She takes another deep breath before it dawns on her that no one else is there to witness her shame. But she cannot take feel glad about that. Once again, he had to do precious little to truly discomfit her.

And how was that possible? She knows why she came here. Aside from her life and those of her companions, she has nothing to lose. He is powerless to even threaten her with the life of Inoue. So why is she so flustered?

Huh. Flustered. A frivolous word forever associated with the jangling in her nerves only Ichimaru Gin was ever capable of producing.

It was what Byakuya had said after he introduced them formally.

He hadn't wanted to, of course. His distaste for Gin stemmed more from his lack of a pedigree than his lack of any qualities Rukia considered human. But they crossed paths on the way to the thirteenth squad compound and Captain Kuchiki was bound by noble etiquette to address his colleague. After, of course, said colleague called out to him. "Oy, Kuchiki! A fine morning, don't you think?"

Byakuya rolled his eyes, or seemed to, and stopped walking. The tall, slender man came closer to them and Rukia, behind her brother, felt the tingle that represented his massive spirit energy. He didn't even have the decency to suppress it in social circumstances.

"I heard you had an addition to your noble family," the man said, his grin widening as he tilted his head to examine the girl. "She looks familiar."

"She has the common look any person out of Rukongai would have," Kuchiki replied. "Rukia, this is Ichimaru Gin. He is the captain of the third squad and your superior."

She felt her hands knot into fists involuntarily. But she knew what was expected of her. She took a step forward and bowed deep. "It is an honor to meet you, Captain."

She felt his long, slender fingers on her head. "Very good, Rukia-chan," he said. Her heart was pounding. When she faced him, his slit-narrow eyes and slick grin made her stomach turn. She knew his kind all too well, or so she thought. They were horribly common in Rukongai, albeit without the immense reiatsu he exuded. They were slick, cool, and merciless in their ruthless ways. Many a girl had fallen prey to them only to find herself stranded in a brothel or worse. Many a man had put his trust in them only to have it shredded, stomped on, or set on fire. The captain was a vulture in the truest sense of the word. And like most vultures, he probably was only interested in the rumbling in his own stomach. "Will she be joining a squad right away, Kuchiki-taichou? I always have space in my own squad."

"I have already placed her with Ukitake," Byakuya said. "We are headed there now for her formal introduction. If you'll excuse us." He walked away without so much as a polite nod of the head.

Rukia followed, nearly scrambling to keep close. She did not look back but was sure Captain Ichimaru was still there, staring after them.

"Calm yourself," her brother said after a moment. "I will not tolerate your entering Ukitake-taichou's presence flustered."

"I'm not flustered," she stammered.

"You are. If there is anything about that man you find interesting, please take care to forget it. I did not bring you here to allow you to sink back into your vulgar roots."

Insults from him, no matter how veiled, always cut her to the bone. "Yes, nii-sama," she murmured. But he was right. Something about Ichimaru Gin has set her on edge. She hoped he would not be someone she saw often.

But she should have known better than that. Ukitake put her to work immediately. Light stuff, seeing as she had failed to land a seat. Every day he sent her out into the crowded streets to run his errands. Medicine from Unohana, messages back and forth from Kyouraku. And as it happened, Ichimaru turned up more often than not. At first, he would always greet her, compliment her on her quick adjustment to the life of an unseated Shinigami, patting her hand or her hair or clapping her back like they were buddies. Weeks after that he would walk with her wherever she was going, asking gentle but pointed questions. Was she satisfied with her post? Did she enjoy her time with her noble elder brother? And later, did she want to marry? Was there anyone her eye had fallen on? Any words she could think of to politely escape his company were late and never enough. She realized later that he was slowly numbing her; pushing her toward places she had no intention of going. He had her cornered in a dark alley by the end of it, his hand brushing her temple and his long, slender fingers weaving themselves in her hair. He had bent close to her then. "If you wish to take a seat, and I know you do, I can help you. After all this time, how can you still be so distant? Haven't I been nice?"

She could only look away from his seeking eyes. "Ichimaru-taichou has been very helpful and kind. But I must take this message to Komamura-taichou. . ." And clumsy excuses held her, for a while. But she knew it was only a matter of time before he drove her into a real corner. And there was not a soul she could call to for help.

It must have been obvious, how desperate she was to be rid of him. Because that day, someone came to her rescue. "Gin, you do know she's working right now, don't you? Are you trying to get her into trouble with her captain?"

Rain gray eyes and red gold hair. And a chest that defied description. She was famous, that Matsumoto Rangiku. Even though Rukia had only seen her a few times, she immediately knew who she was when she interrupted Ichimaru's unpleasant advance.

His face scrunched up in what seemed like disappointment, but then there was a flash—Rukia could not be certain if she actually saw it, years later—of joy. "Ran-chan!"

"Don't Ran-chan me." Rangiku ran a hand through her hair, tossing her head a little. "I just saw Kira. He's beside himself, seems there was a ruckus in one of your barracks. Why don't you go take care of that?"

"You always turn up to ruin my day. Can't you see I'm mentoring a kohai?"

"Then it's a good thing I came along to save her."

His lips curved downward, just a little. "If you're so intent on saving everyone else, then who's going to save me?"

Rangiku tilted her head to the side. "I didn't know you wanted saving. In any case, Kuchiki-san, where are you headed?"

Rukia blinked, almost shocked. "To Komamura-taichou. Ukitake-taichou is sending him a message."

"I'm headed that way," Rangiku said, taking her hand "I'll walk with you." She pulled the girl away from Gin and into the sunlight. "Take care, Gin."

They walked to the seventh squad compound in silence, until Rukia found her tongue again. "Thank you, Matsumoto-fukutaichou."

"Call me Rangiku, Rukia-chan." She stopped, turned to her. "Kaien-san has been praising you to high heaven. I'm sorry we haven't had a chance to talk before. About Gin. . .he's not harmless. But I'm sure you know that. You need to learn to evade him, or he'll keep at it."

"But—how?" Rukia was surprised by the other woman's bluntness.

Rangiku smiled. "Tell on him. He's been doing this for weeks, hasn't he? I'm pretty sure Kaien—or Ukitake-taichou, for that matter—wouldn't tolerate him pestering you."

"I can't do that. I'll look weak," Rukia blurted.

"Well then, aren't you, that you haven't managed to get rid of him before now?" Rangiku's eyes narrowed. "I see what you're trying to do and I understand it. But sooner or later your will has to be stronger than his. Are you hard enough for it, though?"

Rukia frowned. She knew she was. How could she have forgotten it? She grew up in Rukongai! She was stronger than this. "I know I am," she said solemnly.

Rangiku smiled at her. "Kaien is never wrong about this kind of stuff. I hope to hear more good things when see you again."

In the following weeks, Ichimaru continued his relentless attention. Rukia was polite but cold. He could not gently goad her in any direction but the one she was headed in and any attempts to get a rise out of her were for naught. At first it was constricting, the mask she taught herself to don whenever she felt his reiatsu headed in her direction. But after time she forgot to take it off, even when he was nowhere in sight. Eventually he grew bored and drifted off. Rukia considered it her first real victory. Even though it left her more alone than she had ever been in her life. It took Kaien's kindness to undo the damage she had done to herself for the sake of getting rid of Gin.

She shakes herself. She never thought she would be here again, under his thumb, cringing at her own thoughts. But she is. _But._ . . She's not the same as she was then. She's been to hell and back and they both know it. "Whatever he's doing, I won't make it easy." That's something she can take comfort in. She believes in her friends and she believes in herself. That's plenty for now.

For the first time, she smiles to herself in the darkness.


	5. Saving Me

The chamber he inhabits in Hueco Mundo is spacious, white, and spartan. He likes it this way; he has few possessions anyway and what is a room but a place to sleep? But when he enters it this time, the sword of his captive is waiting for him. In its unreleased form it looks like any other plain katana. He has never seen Rukia's shikai. He's looking forward to it.

But for now, he thinks, he'll let her simmer some more. As Aizen's first disciple, he knows better than most people how to set people in motion without their willing it. And he can take his time, time is all he has here. He lays in his bed thinking these delicious thoughts as he falls asleep. And then the dreams come to meet him.

In his dreams he is always chasing after her. She's running from him, but not _from_ him. He knows at some point she'll slow her steps, and he reach her in two long strides, wrapping his arms around her, letting himself be immersed in the scent of her red-gold hair. But that never happens in his dreams. His eyes always open the moment he feels the warmth coming off her back and the soft cotton of her shirt.

He hates that more than anything else.

How many years has it been? A score? A century? Does it matter? This is a wound that has not lessened with the passage of time.

He failed her. "Ran-chan, why don't you save me?" He asked her this every time he saw her after they completed the shinigami academy. They went to separate squads, she to the tenth, he to the fifth. Neither were upset about being separated. They were too far gone for that by then. They never said the words, but both wondered why they even bothered with each other anymore. They were different people than they were as children, picking persimmons and eating them under the watery sun. But of course, it has only taken one day to separate them.

They had found shelter with an elderly woman who lived on the outskirts of Inizuri. She was kind and stern at once. Rangiku was forced to wash her hair every day and Gin was not allowed to pick pockets. He could easily have continued his petty larceny and hid it from the old lady, but something besides Rangiku's silent reproach stopped him. He could wreck their family with this. _Their family._ So he stayed close to the little hut with Rangiku and Oba-chan,doing chores and singing songs like a crazed chimp. They both laughed at him, and it just made him want to do it more. So this is what that feels, he thought lazily to himself, burying his face in Ran-chan's hair. What it feels like to be loved by a family. The pallet on the floor could have been a goose-down mattress. This was a palace, Oba-chan was the dowager queen, he the noble prince and Ran-chan was, as always, a princess. His princess.

The old lady treated them like siblings, not even forcing them to separate in their sleep. Or perhaps she knew. No, he must have been utterly obvious to her, even if he wasn't to Rangiku, until that day.

There were shady people all around them. It was only a matter of time before they got unwanted attention. It had been late at night and they were preparing for bed when he came in, stubbly and filthy. He scanned the inhabitants. An old woman and two children. He flashed wide, yellow smile at them. "You good people have something for a weary man, don't you?"

Gin pushed Rangiku behind him. The old lady smiled grimly. "We have water." She hobbled quickly to the jars the children had walked miles to fill that morning. She raised one to her chest and forced her bony arms out. "Please take it and go."

The man took one slow step forward. Gin had been holding his breath, but now, seemed things would go smoothly. The man would take the water and go. But just as Oba-chan pulled her arms back, the jug came crashing to the ground. The man was still smiling. "Take-chin," he called and the other came to the door, large, filthy and smelly. "There's something better than water in here."

Take-chin stepped the rest of the way in, his eyes roving the place. They came to a stop at Gin, where Rangiku stood behind him. "So there is," he agreed.

Gin's chest was suddenly aflame. How dare they. . ._how dare they?_ Oba-chan was cringing in a corner but inching her way in his direction. At any moment she would fling herself in front of the children in what would certainly be a futile attempt to protect them. She shouldn't have to do that. They never hurt anyone. They should be able to live in peace.

The First Man took a broad step toward Gin, and as he suspected Oba-chan moved with speed that defied her age to block him. But she was harshly pushed to the floor. The first man scowled down at Gin. "Why did you push your granny, you ungrateful little bastard?"

"Gin. . ." Rangiku was already on the floor, cradling Oba-chan. Her eyes were wide and horrified. But he had no time to be concerned with that.

He came almost to the first man's shoulder. He had no weapons, not even a little knife. But every nerve in his body was singing at him. _Kill him, fucking kill him now!_ He could only obey them. He lunged, felt the hard blow to his head and went down, blood flowing into his eyes. His ears were filled with screaming that was not his. Rangiku . . . Oba-chan. . .The darkness swallowed him whole.

And then spat him out. He sat up and wiped his eyes, ignoring the strange pain he felt in his bottom. There was still screaming, but it was only Rangiku's. Oba-chan was in a pool of blood not far from him. A knife still was sunk deep in her midsection. Take-chin was laughing. "Save some for me, why doncha?" He had not noticed Gin was awake. He did not see the boy stretch close to the old woman and take the knife. He never knew what hit him. Gin was on him like a cat, and it was only the strangled cry and the sound of spurting blood that alerted the First Man. Take-chin sank to the floor, hacking and clutching at his neck. The first man did not look surprised, or even frightened.

"So then, you think you're a killer, do you?"

"Gin, run away!" Rangiku's voice has hoarse and ragged. The first man pushed away from her and she struggled to pull her clothes together.

Gin only smiled. _So this is what it feels like to kill. It's not so bad._ He and the First Man gazed at each other like men at a poker game. The First Man slowly pulled up his pants. "You can have her after me, if that's what got you so pissed," he said.

"Gin, _run away!_" Rangiku screamed again.

"I'm not running," he said to no one in particular as he charged the man, dodged his drunken swing and sank the knife into his stomach. The First Man gasped and staggered back and Gin was on him, thrusting the knife, over and over, until his hands were sticky and his shirt was covered in blood. By then the First Man was not breathing anymore. To this day, Gin does not know how many times he stabbed him.

He looked at Rangiku. Her face was ashen. "We have to take care of Oba-chan," he said. "Can you help me?" She blinked at him.

"_Dammit, we have to bury her! Can you do something or not?"_ he demanded. He did not realize until later he was screaming at her. But the look on her face did not show anything other than horror. At him. At what he had done.

They dug a shallow grave beside the house. It was late and the moon was high in the sky. Rangiku's hair clung to her face. She did not look at him, even when they returned to the house for Oba-chan's body, hauled her to the grave, and began to cover her with dirt. "I'm sorry," she finally murmured. "Gin, I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

He looked at her. He was insanely glad he didn't have his back to her, with the seat of his pants stained with blood. It was hard enough driving away the thoughts of the glimpse he caught of her, her bare chest with the shirt ripped away and the hands rubbing the thighs that so clearly were hurting her. She was crying again, and would cry for days afterward. His heart exploded into a million jagged pieces. But his eyes were completely dry now, and they stayed that way.

Several days later he walked away from that house without her, and did not return for a long time.

After many years he was able to throw that in her face when he wanted to torture her for not being as damaged. "Ran-chan, why don't you save me?" _Ran-chan.. . . please. _

"Gin, you don't want to be saved." When she looked at him the last time, her eyes were filled with tears. For the first time in an eternity. "Please don't ask me again unless you mean it."

And she walked away from him. He never really forgave her for that, but he understood it. Once or twice he considered confiding his thoughts to Aizen. He's glad he didn't do that now, seeing as Aizen neither cares nor wants to hear anything that does not directly concern himself. The narcissism the man exudes is incredible and convenient. It means that Gin can play with Rukia indefinitely and never be questioned or chastised for it. And play with her he will, if only to pass the time and satisfy his ever-growing hunger for fun. Maybe, he thinks accidentally, after a while she'll consider it fun too.


	6. Cat and Mouse

When she was much younger, a millennium ago maybe (sometimes it felt like it) she mastered the art of levitation. It was nothing special because it was in her head. She would lay in the narrow bed of the top bunk in that shitty orphanage with her eyes closed and the bed, the filthy sheets, the wooden frame and the girl beneath her would all fall away; she would lay with her arms outstretched, feeling the air caress her as if saying, "I've come for you. I'm sorry I made you wait so long." She could say nothing in response to it; her heart would bubble over with a joy that constricted her throat. It was a talent she quickly forgot about when she slipped out of the orphanage's clutches and cast herself into the streets. Imagining she could fly was by then a worthless activity.

Now it occupies her time. The floor is not cold when she imagines the space between her and it. The room is inhabitable. She is not comfortable, but she is fine. Bored, but fine. Irritated, too.

Ichimaru comes and goes.

Motherfucker thinks he's a shrink or something.

They've spent hours staring at each other. He brings her food once a day, stands and watches as she slowly eats, his eyes as narrow as ever, his smile as wide as ever, like a goddamn dog. "Did Gin do something good? Is Rukia pleased with Gin?" Today he brought her sake.

She sniffs at it. "I've had drinks before, Ichimaru-san. Don't forget I used to be close to Abarai."

"You're still close to Abarai. Maybe his spirit is here, watching over you."

Rukia drinks the whole cup and sets it next to her empty plate. "Renji is not dead."

"Are you so sure?"

She closes her eyes, exasperated. The banter is complimentary with the meal. While she is thoroughly sick of it, she knows he will not stand still long enough for her to strangle him. She rises, lifts the plate and drink. She backs away as he takes it. "Thank you." It's domestic, mortifying, and absurd. He probably cooked it himself. Sprinkled with his warped and poisonous love.

The so-called loving housewife smiles at her. "I'm glad you liked it."

"I didn't say I liked it."

"But you ate it."

"I was hungry."

"Oh," he says, reaching for her with his free hand. She sidesteps him without a sound. _Here it comes_, she fumes in her head. Every nerve in her body is alert. "I'm keeping you well. You're made a good puppy. Can't I pet you?"

"I'm not rabid, but I will bite you," she says.

"You like the idea of tasting my blood, don't you."

"I like the idea of _spilling_ your blood."

"So cruel," he says, smiling even more. "Such a dark little heart you have, I would never have guessed."

The sake has gone to her head. It's a pleasant fog. She will not smile back at him—will not—but she does not move away even though she senses rather than detects him edging closer. She knows it is pointless. In the days—weeks--since he brought her here he has been circling her live a vulture, waiting for her death rattle so he can swoop in and feed. She has vowed to hold out as long as she can, but she knows it won't be long before her frustration boils over and impatience overrules her common sense, sealing her fate. It burns her that she is not clever enough to have figured out a route of escape. Perhaps, then, it is subconscious punishment that she allows him to push forward. A caress of the hair here, touching of her hand there. In the old days she was sure she would get gangrene if she allowed him to maintain contact with her bare skin. She is only slightly surprised now that as many times as he has touched her, her flesh is not rotting.

He has her hand again. "So tiny. How did you ever wield a soul cutter?"

"Pretty much the way everyone does," she says mechanically.

"Even when you murdered Shiba Kaien?"

She stiffens, tries to pull away. But his grip on her hand is vice-like. "Oh dear, have I hit a nerve? How can that be, me wounding a black little heart like yours?" His face looms close. "Shhh, shhh, I won't tell anyone." He is twisting her arm now. The pain is excruciating. "If you show me how you did it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she growls through bared teeth.

"Liar. You've wandered this world covered in blood, pretending you don't smell or feel it. Just who do you think you are?" He pulls her dangerously close. Any closer and his lips would graze hers. His breath is hot and insistent. "I know who you are. We're not that different. Give in."

She wants to pound on his shoulder with every ounce of strength she has. She wants to punch him in his leering, grinning, thin-lipped mouth. But his spirit energy is flaring; she is frozen and helpless against it. Her eyes narrow. He gazes down at her and she can see the elusive crimson irises of his eyes. Suddenly, he drops his energy and pushes her away. She hits the floor with a little grunt. "Perhaps I have been too lenient, too patient with you. I've enjoyed our time together. But it seems I'm not satisfied with just this."

She looks away. Her hip is smarting. There'll be a bruise, she know it, to match the mark on her wrist where he held it. She has no response for him.

He has nothing left to say. He takes the plate, the cup, the utensils and leaves.

And does not return for two weeks.

She is on the floor when he sees her next, and she is not levitating. She is weak and angry and she knows he can feel the waves of fury radiating from her. He greets and counters it with his own spirit energy, and she is all but gasping when he kneels and pulls her to him. This is how he delivers his first, crushing kiss, ripping her lips and letting one hand grip her breast as the other is wound into her hair to hold her head in place. It goes on for what feels like an eternity before she cannot stand it anymore and bites the tongue in her mouth that is not her own. He pushes her roughly.

"It's about time," he says, smiling, before he leaves her again.

She collapses into a corner. Her heart is pounding again; this is a terror she cannot smother.

It's starting.


	7. Never Is A Promise

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay, folks. I hit a wall and my head is still spinning.

* * *

Not entirely unlike her mistress, Sode no Shirayuki has nothing to say to Gin. She lay silent and reproachful on his bed, beautiful and dignified in her fury.

Of course she knows what's going on. She knows because Rukia knows. And Rukia's white-hot hatred oozes from her sword.

But Gin does not mind that.

Because little by little the desperation is seeping out too. That and something else. Gin likes the extra thing. He can lap it up like milk being dripped from an empty carton to the floor and find it delicious and sweet. And fortifying. He lifts Shirayuki gently, as he would a mewling kitten, and carries her with him. He knows Rukia cannot feel him carrying her, but the thought that she might is also scintillating. As he enters the vast, open bath of Las Noches and scans the now empty pools of warm water, he feels the sword thrum her displeasure. She knows what's coming. She's been here before, at his side as he sank into the water to nurse his cuts and bruises, the ones that properly match the ones he has left on her mistress. He has no feeling either way about being naked in front of Shirayuki. In fact, he has edged close to her more than once, let her keen edge dig delicately into his arm, his thigh, his shoulder. Little spurts of blood would waft to the surface of the water before dissipating. He would watch them with disinterest; this was nothing to the torrents he drew from his guest, or the ones she likewise extracted from him.

The stab wound on his back has scabbed over. He did not take himself to a medic after it happened. Half of him is inclined to pick at it so that it will never heal, and he'll always have a fresh trophy from the battle. It is an inch long—of course she sank the knife in to the hilt, that little hellcat—and still angry and red. It still throbs a little and it makes him hard just thinking about it.

His first gift to her was that knife, just two days after his first tender kiss.

It was delicate and white, like he knew Shirayuki to be in her released from. The handle was etched with tiny, intricate snowflakes. She caught it in her tiny hand, eyed it with disgust, and would have thrown it back at him if he had not lunged at her. She backed away first, wary as a cornered doe, but when he cut at her white face with his own knife, a switch went off in her head and this child, this tiny kitten, became something different.

Blood dripped from her cheek, her eyes went dark and depthless. Even as he was careful then to strike only at her arms and shoulders, her every aim was for his throat. She ducked and dodged him; he knew now she was running on pure rage. And he inhaled the scent of her sweat, the grime of the cell, the intoxicating aroma of her muscles straining almost against their will. Of course she was exhausted and starving. But she was not fighting to escape anymore. She was ripe. As he caught her arm, his other hand found her neck and slammed her against the wall. He sucked in air as the knife sank into the flesh just under his left scapula. He bit back his smile and pushed her further into the wall, if that was at all possible. He nudged her upwards; she continued to struggle as he nuzzled her neck. He let his spirit pressure build just enough to paralyze her, then pulled smoothly at the ribbon that held up the bottom of her hakama. Then his. He pressed his lips to her temple. "I've been waiting for you," he hissed into her ear before he took her. She let out a scream, just one, then nothing. One thrust, two. . . nothing.

He stopped. He had not anticipated this. He barely had the time to pull back to look at her—what was she thinking?--when she disengaged herself and kicked him, hard.

He sank to the ground gasping.

"Bastard," she hissed and kicked him again. And again.

He began to laugh. "Are you enjoying this? I knew you would." He coughed.

She froze. Her eyes went wide and white. "Never," she whispered.

He rose with difficulty as she backed away, suddenly aware and ashamed of her partial nudity. "Never," she kept saying. "Never." Until his spirit pressure spiked again and she was forced to the ground, kneeling, teeth bared.

"Never is a promise," he bit off, delivering a backhand that sent her further down. "You'll break it. You know it's here. Stop fighting it." He reached back and pulled out the knife, examined it. He ran a finger along the edge of the blade and came close to her again. She no longer had the strength to back away. He pulled up his pants with the other hand and then knelt, cupping her face. He ran the bloodied finger along her already bloodied lips. "Give in."

She closed her eyes. Even now, she would not show him her tears. "Never," she said.

"We'll see," he said as he left her.

He decided it would not be prudent to see her again for a while. He had arranged for a meal to be delivered to her every other day, and on alternating days water, soap, and the basest toiletries. He has failed in his first direct attempt to bring her to heel, but he remains undaunted. He knows what he saw in her eyes. It gave off the same feeling he senses coming from Shirayuki now. Blind, engrossing hatred. Desperation. And that last, coming slowly. That last, which caused her stab him, kick him when he was down instead of running.

He holds Shirayuki in front of him, smiling. He can almost taste it.

She does not want him dead. She wants to kill him.

He's only happy to oblige her, but only if he can return the favor. Over and over again.


	8. Spark

The first time she had ever seen a mirror, it was one Renji had stolen and brought to her. She looked at it curiously; she understood that the face peering back at her was her own, but she did not understand the necessity of looking at something that was already familiar to her.

He looked at her, his scowl melting into that mix of anger and disappointment she was used to seeing by now. She understood she needed to smooth it over. "It's pretty, Renji," she said, not really knowing what else to say to make him okay with her lackluster reaction to what was apparently—definitely, she knows now—a love gift. She laid it flat in her lap and it caught the slight crimson rising to his cheeks. He was always bringing her random things back then—bits of ribbon for her hair, flowers that would be weak and wilted by the time he handed them to her—but he was always secretive about it. Neither of them ever told another soul, so this was a link she had with him and no one else. And he kept giving her things just to keep that connection alive. But on the rare occasion he caught her off guard and she betrayed her disinterest, he always took it hard. "Thank you," she said, and smiled at him.

Only then did he stop sulking.

They had known each other for two months before she knew every twist and turn of that pure and simple mind. It was years later that she realized how jealous she was of his certainty. And she hated herself for begrudging him that comfort. She hated a lot of things. She hated sleeping in town, in back alleys and under abandoned wagons. She hated how people would look at them as they passed, as if the dust they tracked into their houses had more worth. Mostly she hated the endless, mind numbing pointlessness that seemed to be their lives. Steal, eat, sleep. Repeat. Steal, eat, sleep. As they grew together, Renji's stride became long and certain. He knew who, why, and what he was, and it never bothered him a bit.

He was not strong for her. He was strong for himself, but it pleased him that his strength was helpful to her, too. In his mind things were golden and vibrant, there were shades of gray but these were tinted crimson and deep forest green. Everything was so miraculously simple and obvious. It was not that he had blinded himself to the harsh reality that surrounded him. He had simply mastered it.

Rukia could never do that. Rukia hesitated where he plunged forward, pontificated where he remained wisely silent. He never understood why she could be so cheerful one moment and then moody the next. He assumed it was a female issue. Rukia knew that had nothing to do with it. Even if she had been a man, the empty spot in her heart would be there, gaping and howling, ready to expand and swallow her whole.

It was not so big after she began living with Renji and their friends. But as their companions fell away she could feel it, throbbing, pushing the fear in her head to the surface at every opportunity. Eventually she would lose Renji too, it whispered, and she would be alone. She forced the fear deep down, pretended not to listen when it was at its loudest.

Then they went to the academy, at her insistence, and were separated. They saw each other often, but not enough to settle her mind. She hated him for adjusting so well when she was struggling.

And then Byakuya came for her, and without a second thought Renji threw her at his feet. Of course she knows he thought it was best for her. But couldn't he have seemed sad—even a little? Couldn't he have asked her not to go? She would have felt better if he had, because then she'd know _she_ made the choice instead of it being made for her. She would have walked away from him with a shred of pride at her control over her destiny. And that little black spot on her heart would not have gotten so much bigger so quickly. She did not know why she resented people wanting what was best for her. She also did not know why she seemed to attract people who wanted to harm her. Like she wasn't mangled enough as it was. Twisted, selfish, cold.

Killing Kaien just to save her own worthless life.

Maiming Ichigo's soul to satisfy her pride.

Playing the martyr to lap up the outpour of sympathy like some kind of fucking parasite.

Letting Ichimaru Gin get close so she could revel in the darkness she knew was always there. She was her own tragic heroine, the tormented whore in search of something she only pretends is redemption.

She grimly smiles to herself in the dark. She's only thought of herself as a whore once. It carries a satisfying ring. But only because she can say Gin could not take that from her, her innocence. That had been gone for years, irretrievable even if she had not touched anyone since.

_Renji._ . .

. . .was by that time a denizen of the eleventh squad in every way. He brawled, drank, and womanized with the best of them. Rumor had it that the tendencies that bubbled to the surface after his transfer were what precipitated said transfer to begin with. But in the end, it was for the best. Even if there still remained that touch of softness in him, reserved for only one person in the world. And she regarded it as hers and hers alone even though she had not spoken to him in months. Such a selfish little bitch she was. But that night she had truly needed it.

After the simple service that was all Shiba Kuukaku would allow for her precious elder brother, the majority of the thirteenth squad spilled into Rukongai to drown their grief in alcohol. Rukia was not invited.

Instead she slunk about the 78th district aimlessly, all cried out and by now angry with everything. Little wonder that when that strong hand took hers, she turned and struck him. Renji looked down at her, his face kind and serious even with the reddening hand print on his cheek, and did not let go. "You shouldn't be out alone," he said.

Rukia glared up at him but did not speak. But did not protest as he moved forward, pulling her with him. They knew these streets as well as they knew their own bodies. She knew where they were going, even if he did not. The hut where they met as children was abandoned, filthy, and comfortable. They sat at the surprisingly still-standing, rickety table for a long time, silent, looking away from each other. His hand was warm as it covered hers. He was waiting for her to cry. She no longer could. Whether he knew it or not he would wait forever, if necessary. So tangled up in her he was.

So caught up in her. His protest was weak when she rose, came close to him, and kissed his lips. She knew he'd wanted this forever. _Forever._ And here she was, giving it to him. But not for him. For herself. Her cold, murderous, horrible, selfish self. But his hands were warm and his heart pounded a comforting, steady rhythm as she pressed herself close to him, took him.

All she had ever done to Renji was take from him. Her virginity was a meaningless thing she used to pull him in further, to make him her blanket. His kiss became greedy, his hands gripped her shoulders as if he suspected at any moment she would snap shut like a pocket watch and close him out. When he murmured her name she only stroked his hair, relishing how he needed her still. He poured every molecule of himself into her and she would never be able to give him anything in exchange. She cared only enough to be ashamed, and that was only when she thought about it. She hoped rather than believed he would forgive her when he woke up alone the next morning. But it didn't matter. It felt good, being curled up in his arms for their stolen hours, but the feeling was gone by the time she heard him whisper his love to her and she suddenly felt empty again. Her temper flared at him—couldn't he do just this one thing for her, love her enough to make her clean?

But of course his love was for someone who no longer existed. Or had she even existed at all? Perhaps this new monstrosity was there all along, waiting to come to the surface and take over. The monstrosity who briefly enjoyed the anticipation of being fucked by Ichimaru Gin, if only for the value of the self-loathing that would follow. The monstrosity who got what she wanted and then didn't want it anymore. The monstrosity who now crouches in a corner of a dingy cell in Hueco Mundo with a knife at her wrist, thinking of cutting. And is startled when she remembers the mirror that was given to her a lifetime ago by an infatuated fool.

A mirror that showed her a face that did not look evil. And an infatuated fool who is not, no matter how many times she may berate him, truly stupid. He knows and accepts her, likes her, cares for her. Has clearly forgiven her for the wounds she thinks she inflicted on him. Her friend. One of her friends. . .Who are waiting for her. Who have risked their lives for her sake. Who make her laugh, who make her feel as if she belongs to them. Who she _loves._ Who she knows she would die for. She blinks.

Inoue. Somewhere very close is the spirit she came for, the spirit who perhaps felt the same way she does now, even if only for a little bit. And Rukia knows with sad certainty which of them is stronger. She swallows. She can fathom dying here. But she will never accept Inoue doing so. Never. . .

So that's how it is. Dark and ugly as her soul may be, her friends have put a spark of true humanity in her heart. And it has been there all this time, lit by Renji, nourished by Kaien and Ukitake-taichou, built into a roaring blaze by Ichigo's faith. To do right by them she must first do right by herself.

Her tears are hot and welcome. She still has a mission, she has only temporarily been pulled from it. She'll let that spark of light carry her out of this dark place.

Over Gin's dead body, of course.

But first, she needs to get Shirayuki back. Rukia grimaces to herself. _She's probably pissed at me._


	9. Push and Pull

"You've been busy lately, haven't you."

Gin cocks his head in the quizzical way he uses with everyone else. He know this expression irritates his former Captain. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

Aizen is beautiful. He always has been, and even though he knows it, he acts as if he does not. His eyes glow with warm, not-so friendly light when he smiles. "You don't change, Gin. With all that is going on here, you've chosen to take a hostage and toy with her like a cat with its dinner."

"It's a good thing we didn't get to kill her then. I'd be awfully bored about now."

Aizen chuckles. "Has she been amusing?"

"Oh, very. Not as sad and weepy as your little Momo. She stabbed me."

"And how is her zanpaktpou?"

Gin pauses. "So furious it burns cold when I touch it."

Aizen's eyes narrow. "Have you seen it released?"

"Not yet."

"That girl is nowhere near bankai. It won't be a very long fight, you know."

"I don't plan on killing her." The words are out of Gin's mouth before he can stop them. This is one of Aizen's most dangerous qualities: the ability to lull anyone into talking candidly to him. _Without that skill_, Gin thinks, _he would never have gained me._

Aizen frowns at him. "I will say this only once.There will come a time when you will have to give her up. Be done with her by then."

Gin bows his head slightly. "As you wish, Taichou." He neither understands nor cares. As he leaves the great sitting room Aizen likes to linger and look impressive in, he reminds himself that Aizen has completely lost his taste for fun. But then his mind turns to less pleasant things.

He can no longer feel Shirayuki.

He has done nothing to lull her into complacency, yet the rage has diminished. If anything, it's a cool indifference that rolls from her in random waves. It happened almost overnight. He cannot decide whether to be disappointed or alarmed with this change of heart. He has decided the only way to gather more information and act is to bring what now seems like a useless blade back to her apparently beaten wielder.

When he enters the cell she is laying on the floor, definitely not sleeping. She sits up, eyes adjusting to the light. When she opens her mouth, his heart nearly stops in shock when she speaks.

"I never once thought I would be impatient to see you again."

He examines her curiously. There are no words to articulate his wonder—and how this simple statement sets him on edge. It's too soon for this, whatever it is. The frown on her face is her standard wardrobe; no additional information can be discerned from her body language. He sighs inwardly and resigns himself a round of twenty questions that promises no stimulation whatsoever.

"Are you hungry?"

"Of course I am."

"I can get you something. . ." he tilts his head, calculating the value of a meal. He can touch her any time and any way he wants but it is much easier when she is weak and starved. "But what are you willing to exchange for it?"

"I doubt I have anything else you want. Didn't the last encounter prove that to you?"

That's what's wrong. Is she truly that relaxed, or is she working an angle? What is it she's after? Shirayuki seems to be in complete sync with her, silent and still tucked behind him where Rukia cannot see. "I knew you had already been spoiled. Renji doesn't strike me as the kind to take his time, and maybe that time you spent with that boy was less than honorable?"

Her nostrils flare, just a little bit, but she catches herself and comes back to the issue at hand. "Can I get a meal or not? If I need to fuck you for it, just make sure you bring me soap and water to scrub myself with afterward."

"All business now, aren't you. It's true you never let me finish." He doesn't have any feeling either way about that. It's never about the sex with him. "I'm not moved. I suppose you'll have to wait."

She is sitting cross-legged and her arms are folded. It's not that she is resigned to her fate, he knows. But whatever opening she is looking for is one he has no intention of giving her. Not as unsatisfied as he is. "But I did bring you something.

Rukia's smile is as brilliant as it is malevolent. "Another knife to cut you with?"

He whistles, pulls the apparently inert sword from behind him. He's nothing if not a gambling man. Only one of two things can happen here. Either Shirayuki will awaken and he can anticipate a grand fight before forcing himself on them both, or Shirayuki will not awaken and he'll get to watch her owner's horrified reaction. It's something they teach at the academy. A zanpakto has its own will, but at its core is the true nature of its wielder. If the owner is broken, so is the sword. Either Rukia is a dry tinderbox and her sword is the fire needed to make her explode, or . . he'll know soon enough.

As Rukia's eyes widen, the room grows suddenly colder. So, he thinks, Shirayuki has remained loyal.

But no.

The light in the girl's eyes vanishes as quickly as it appeared. Shirayuki is still. Rukia does not get up. "So?" she says.

Gin smiles. "So she's rejected you. Funny, I expected a different reaction from you. Here," he says, throwing the sword at her. It clatters to the floor with a hollow, empty sound. "You can still stab me with her, if you want." She does not reach for the sword. He moves closer. Rukia backs away a few inches, but his energy is at full blast and she cannot move as he pulls her to him, kisses her. He bites her lip and feels the tiny thrill he gets when it is clear she is truly rattled. She is shaking when he takes her again, and this time he will be slow.

On the floor not two feet away from them Shirayuki, like her owner, is silent.


	10. Lies and Half Truths

The place where she awakens is an empty place but not her cell. Above her the sky is blue-white, the sun watery and far-off. Bare trees are scattered across the field in which she lay, and the wind is light and passive. She sits up. She's seen this place, been here before. This is where the children hid out when she was younger. But she is too far gone now to be nostalgic and scans the horizon for any sign of a way out of this faded, useless dream. She stands, blinking, ignoring the rumbling in her stomach.

And then it lurches.

Not fifty yards from her is Renji. Not Renji. His bloody, lifeless body. It can't be. _He can't be dead. He can't be dead!_ Not before she can—

Her legs give out under her before she can reach him. Three deep breaths are all she need to gather for one ragged shriek. Here is her nightmare. If he is dead—if he _is_ dead—the others—and when she looks it is all she has ever feared. Ishida propped up against a tree, the red stain growing across his tunic. Chad, spread eagled in a patch of sunlight, eyes open and empty. His left arm is several feet away from him. Ichigo's orange head glinting in the sun, the only thing distinguishing him, as the rest of his still body is covered in crusted blood. The only sound she can hear now is her own scream.

"Stop crying."

She shakes her head, the tears are coming, she can't stop them now, can't stop anything, can't _do_ anything.

"Stop crying."

"Shut up."

"You must stop."

"Shut _up_!"

"I cannot. I will not. It may be your wish to die here but it is not mine. Nor is it my wish to die connected to one so pathetic, so weak." The snow is beginning to fall. The spirit is close, her form white and blurred except for the face which is, as usual, too blinding to look at. Such a beauty Shirayuki is.

"I don't give a _damn_ about your wishes," Rukia says. She wants to think she is rational, speaking like a normal person. But they both know she is screaming. "Your wishes can go fuck themselves."

"I would expect such language from one who has carnally known Ichimaru Gin," Shirayuki says. "Are you finished?"

On her hands and knees, Rukia sees the snowflakes land and melt on her still-warm fingers. They have already covered the ground and the bodies of her comrades are slowly being swallowed by Shirayuki's presence. It's always been like this with her. Shirayuki has nothing nice to say. She is a worse snob than the Byakuya crowd, and that's saying something. Rukia had come close to giving up on ever attaining shikai, with a zanpaktou so stubborn and unfriendly. That had been a battle within herself that took years.

And she has no energy to deal with such an attitude now. "I'm not done yet," she says coldly.

"Then what? Are we to wait for him to get bored and kill us?"

The words are on her tongue before Rukia can stop them. "I'm already dead," she says. "I was dead before I even came here."

"So you say. And yet you cling to the lives of your friends like a cold man clutching a blanket. You chose your own hell. I am not deceived."

"You are not deceived?" Rukia laughs. "One can only be deceived if they are looking for a different outcome than the present situation. You were never looking for anything, never cared what happened. You're not a part of this, never were. You pick and choose when you want to be involved with me."

"I choose when wish to be _actively_ involved with you. You've only ever looked at me as a tool."

"You chose that, not me. I was never good enough. Never a kind word, never any encouragement. Look at you now. I die, you die. That's the only reason you're speaking to me now. Showing me my dead friends isn't going to get you what you want."

Shirayuki's eyes narrow. "You have no idea what I want, you selfish, self-absorbed woman."

"So now you say it," Rukia says.

"It's what you want to hear. But this will be the last time I indulge you. You will walk away from here. Not intact, but you will walk away. Gin has already lost to you."

Rukia can do nothing but gape at her. "How—" but she can't get the rest out. Shirayuki kneels and kisses her. The hands on her her shoulders, like the lips touching her own, are warm. Rukia knows in an instant what this is, what Shirayuki wants to convey but cannot speak aloud. _You have yourself and you have me. This is all you need, for now. I trust you. Please trust me as well. You never gave up hope. You came close, but the spark in your soul, the spark that sustains us both, was yet—is yet—strong. He did everything to kill that light, but it could not be extinguished with cold words and unwanted advances. And it was not your faith in your friends that fed it. It was your will to live, to shake yourself free of your pain. You have always been fighting the darkness, ever seeking the light. He is your opposite, in that respect. He has turned away the one person who could lead him to his own light in favor of shallow pursuits and self-loathing. His wallowing will be his undoing._

"That's a lie," Rukia breathes. "You'll tell me anything to get what you want."

_It's true I have nothing to lose. But neither do you. So then, will you deny what lies plainly in front or you, or will you base that remains of your life on the half-truth of your weakness? You are weak now, and you have been weak in the past. But that weakness is not a part of you. It is your will to punish yourself for that which you cannot change, nothing more. Will you not try to know yourself as well as I do? Can you not even do that, wade through this false, useless grief and let your feet touch solid land?_

"But. . ." Rukia blinks. The kiss has stilled, but Shirayuki's lips are still on hers. Is this entire conversation in her head?

_It is and it is not. This is the reality of a zanpaktou. This is your truth, and it shifts, it shimmers, just as I do, just as the snow moves at the will of the wind. Everything we are is what you have made or unmade. What can you gain from such self-destruction? You will be nothing but refuse, little more than dirt, if this is your will. I ask you to want differently, not just a halfhearted gesture to fend off guilt. Real, true hope and righteous strength are not merely your birthright. You have earned them. Your sins are far less than you believe. And yet you allow them to weigh you down, force yourself to crawl when you should run. Stop this. You must get up. We'll walk away from here and we will help our friends as we always have. And you will learn that your most precious possession has always been yourself. Stand now, Rukia. Stand on your own two feet. Stop leaning on your friends' strength. You have plenty of your own. Never forget that it is you who saved Ichigo first. You saved Kaien. You are still embedded in Renji's heart. You gave Inoue your hope and your faith, she still carries it with her. You brought light back to your brother by being who you are. And your sister loved you more than anything else in the world. Precious, precious. Your worth is without limits. Please believe. _

_Believe and you can save yourself. You may even save. . . him._

Rukia opens her eyes to the dark, empty cell where she's been all along. "Anything but that, Shirayuki," she murmurs. But she knows how this must end.

And is suddenly angry. "Is that it?" she demands. "Why not ask me to go fight Aizen? I'm sure that'll be _much_ easier."

But Shirayuki has said what she wanted, and is not inclined to waste more words on her. Rukia sighs, rises, and picks up her zanpaktou. She gazes at it, the cold steel, the worn scabbard and hilt. Shirayuki is a diamond in the rough. But she believes Rukia to be one, too. _Well then,_ she thinks, _show me how._


	11. Every Time You Go Away

"I have found a use for your shiny little bauble, Gin."

He is not surprised. He has been told, and now that time is here. He can only pretend not to listen; he knows full well that Aizen Sousuke knows him like a book, cover to cover, knows he has no choice but to give in to his whim. Still, he pretends. "My bauble?"

"Perhaps it is generous to say she belongs to you. She belonged to Urahara first, after all."

"That may be true."

Aizen shifts in his chair. "It seems Number Six has been rash. He has taken Inoue Orihime from her cell and is at large with her as we speak. He can only have done it to get at that ryoka boy. I'm sure it won't be much of a fight, but I have grown tired of this outside distraction. They are all to die, starting with the puppet in your cell."

Gin has no words for him. He he can only nod his assent and leave that room without looking back. This is not how he foresaw the ending to their sweet time together. He had hoped to hold on to her at least until winter. But there is no disobeying Aizen Sousuke, no gainsaying the logic that declared that Kuchiki Rukia's corpse would be a wonderful example of Hueco Mundo's power. Gin does not doubt it. If he's alive to see it, Abarai Renji will die of grief. And the rest will be too demoralized to push on. Aizen plans things so neatly. But still.. . Gin can't help but feel he's been cheated of something. Again.

This is not the first time he has told Gin to put something aside.

Not so long ago, so informally it might as well have been in passing, Sousuke asked him, "How is Matsumoto-fukutaichou faring with her new captain?"

Gin could only smile at him. The pride he felt—still feels—of Rangiku is as limitless as it is saddening. She proved herself long ago to be the proverbial lotus that blooms in adversity, so unlike him who shriveled and browned so quickly. But this was hardly adversity. All reports that reached his ears revealed that the boy so determined not to be intimidated by his older peers was bowled over and immediately wrapped around the pinky finger of his subordinate. Rangiku always did that to people.

Especially Gin. "She is doing well, taichou," he said.

"That is good. But let me caution you. Things will be moving forward for us, eventually. Be sure you don't forget where your loyalties lie."

That was not enough for Gin at the time. He wanted to be absolutely sure. "I'm not sure I follow you."

Sousuke took a breath, half-exasperated. "You wish me to say it aloud? Very well. Do not allow your entanglement with that woman to sway you. If I say she is an impediment, she is to be removed from our path. I only say this now to spare you any discomfort later on." And he was gone, and it was final.

The sad thing about it was the only people who considered Gin "entangled" with Matsumoto Rangiku were himself and his former captain.

Rangiku had gotten over him a long time ago. Longer ago now than it was then, and it is still a sore spot for him. And to be reminded of it by being forced once again to give up something that pleases him—

He has no plan yet. When he pushes open the door to the cell, he thinks maybe he'll taunt her, try to get a glimpse of that despair that crept over her face when he last saw her. He believes he has a little more time to play. Fighting her at this point would be like swatting a fly; it holds no interest for him. Perhaps, if he feeds her a little more. . . He plasters another smile on his face and enters.

She is facing the wall, utterly still. If she notices he is here, she is not showing it. He can hear slight breaths coming from her. Meditation? How quaint. His gaze falls on the sword. What was lifeless before is glowing, a sickly-looking gray light. So. . . they're on speaking terms again? But then she speaks.

"He's back," she says to no one in particular.

It hits him in a strange way, a flutter somewhere between his stomach and his heart. And he can swear the voice he heard was not that of his captive.

He's in that hut again, and it's filthy. Rangiku was never much of a housekeeper, and has never been ashamed to admit it. She is laying on the cot, red-gold hair spilling to the floor and G_od_, he loves that color, the way it flows in its almost serpentine way with her every movement. He bends, close, to breathe in her scent. Her eyes open. "You're here again." And then, "I thought this time you weren't coming back."

"Habit, I guess," he says as he leans in closer to kiss her. But he is stopped by the heel of her hand on his chest.

"I went and took the Shinigami exam and I passed," she says.

"I suspected you would, eventually," he murmurs, trying again to lean in close. But this time she pushes him away.

"I won't be waiting for you to come back anymore, Gin. Whatever you've been doing—it doesn't have anything to do with me. I'm not your wife and I'm barely your lover. Every time you go away, it's like someone has ripped out half of my guts. And then you come back and act like you never wanted to leave in the first place, like we're. . ." She shakes her head, sitting up. "It's not enough."

All he can do is blink at her. The air has been sucked out of his lungs, and he hasn't even kissed her. He knows what this is. Rangiku's lazy way around an ultimatum. But to be with her, to love her, to keep her with him. . . "Then what is it you want?"

Her eyes go wide. And then narrow. "I'm not going to say it. You'll never give it to me, anyway. I'm not a toy." And then she rises. "I'll never stop loving you. But I'll never say it again." And for the first time, she is the one who walks away, leaving him empty and frightened in her wake. The same way, no doubt, he's left Rukia—then he feels that presence, the one he has not felt in what feels like months. When he turns she is already fading, white and cold. Only her eyes are clear, and they turning from steel gray to deep, rich violet.

Rukia is now standing, Shirayuki in her hands. Her battle stance is all he needs to realize he's suddenly going to get what he wanted all along, somehow. She tilts her head a little, gazing at the door that he so carefully closed behind him. She grimaces a little. "Second dance, white ripple. _Hakuren_."

The world goes white and collapses around him.

* * *

**AN:** I wanted to do something spectacular but still believable. While I prefer to stay as close to the cannon as possible, my mind caught on something and kinda stuck there. Rukia is nowhere near bankai, but I don't think we've even scratched the purpose on her potential, on Shirayuki's potential. Hence, a little creative license. 


	12. Begin

She does not have this planned, not the timing, anyway. One of the few things she has in common with Shirayuki—neither of them are about details, at least too specific ones. She knows only what she needs to know now. Renji is here, somewhere not too far. She is grateful to know, sorry she ever doubted he was alive, even for a second. But now her mind is clear, even if it is racing. She can make it to him, if she can walk out of here in one piece. Gin is incapacitated, though briefly. She has a fair idea how long this will hold him. Ironically, it's not very long at all. But still, she watches his eyes go briefly wide before the torrent of snow surrounds and encases him, listens intently for the little cry of shock. Shock, indeed. He never once believed she'd do it, even though he has hoped for it so desperately. She knows this as well as she knows he'll never forgive her for it, that this is the true end of the time they have spent together. She doesn't feel nostalgic for it, for the obvious reasons. It's too soon. . . and she despises him. But the words are on her tongue as she looks at him for hopefully the last time in this place. "Shirayuki holds no grudge against you. I won't either—after a while." It amuses her a little that these are the words that come out. She had thought of saying something much more colorful while hatching her plan.

His eyes narrow as she turns away, his face reddens as it never has. "You don't have enough time, little girl. Turn around and at least face me killing you." She is disobedient, too busy mouthing the words as the light is swelling, red and determined in her hands. Somehow she knows, he thinks. She won't take the door; she'll blast her way through the next couple of cells and go to where she can sense Abarai's flaring strength.

But Gin is angry now. He has a little while before he can move his free hand, and when he does—he licks his lips. All he has to do is distract her. "Stupid little whore. You think you're that strong? You haven't been all this time, so what's changed? And what will you tell your precious Renji? There's no way he can't know. And your noble, cold brother? He'll take one look at you and know all your dirty little time with me. What will you do then? That's if you even make it that far. I won't save you again, you know. No point in that." He moves his arm, feels his zanpaktou, knows it's close. "I had you!"

The red light is gone, the wall is crumbling away, but she is at his throat in an instant. Shirayuki thrums at his pulse. "So you did. And I have you now. What of it?" Her violet eyes are ablaze with something he has never seen. She steps away from him, gazes on the startled look that must be on his face. "Handing me your dirtiness will not make you clean. You only want me to have it because _she_ won't take it. But," she says as she walks away, "killing you here, even if I could, won't make me clean either. I'll give your regards to Matsumoto-fukutaichou, when I see her next."

The ice is melting away as she moves out of his view, but he can only see that golden hair, flowing behind a body that definitely does not belong to the Kuchiki princess. His heart is pounding. Rangiku never looked back at him when she left, and now he knows he never wanted her to. Didn't want to see the look on her face, smiling at a memory that he no longer was. He could never stand when she did that. He moves his hand, feels his zanpaktou. Shinsô is silent. There is no comfort here. He could raise the sword, he could follow the girl and pierce her heart. He does not have the will, not yet.

She has not even defeated him. She has left him intact, and as the last of her reiatsu fades from the room he knows—_knows_—that this is only another beginning, really. They'll meet again and she'll truly be worth killing when they do. In fact, he's _letting_ her go. He can smooth this over with Aizen, he knows. That'll be all too easy.

He's smiling again before he even knows it.

The hallway is wide and white, and there are glassless windows. She can see the desolate Hueco Mundo landscape, and it is oddly welcome. But for now she is looking forward. She has things to do. Shirayuki is calm and comforting at her side. It really is just another beginning, after all. "I'm coming," she says to no one in particular.

* * *

**A/N:** As you might have guessed, it's been a little hard for me to close this one up and walk away. I had a pretty good idea how I wanted it to end when I started but gosh darn it, I like them both too much for them to just kill each other. In any case, agonizing over it was only going to give me a stroke, so I had to finish. Thanks to all of you for your kind reviews and for sticking it out this long. I'll be watching for you all. 


End file.
